


Darkness

by lalejandra



Category: Lost RPF
Genre: Gen, Transformative Works Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-20
Updated: 2004-04-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 19:46:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16047314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalejandra/pseuds/lalejandra
Summary: In a real dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day.





	Darkness

Dom could see Ian from where he stood, because Ian was the only person on the beach. He was a small dot against the big ocean and the big sky, dark against the pale sand, dark against the bright sun. Dom was dark, too, browning under the sun, under the tanning makeup they smoothed on him every day to darken his skin faster. He didn't think he'd ever been so tanned in his life, and, like Ian, his bright eyes popped against his skin and golden beard.

Well, Ian's beard wasn't golden. Ian's hair just grew darker and darker, more glossy and black than even Elijah's.

Dom could get behind that. Dom would, in fact, like to get behind that. In every way.  
He punctuated his thought with a leer in Ian's far-away direction, and laughed at himself. Time for a beer, definitely, or at least a smoke. Because he knew better now, or so he had been telling himself -- so he would continue to tell himself. He knew better.

*

Ian didn't look up when Dom joined him on the beach. He'd been farther away than he'd seemed, but Dom caught up with him fairly quickly. Ian's eyes flicked over his threadbare t-shirt and cutoff shorts, then met his own.

"You really do look like a castaway," said Ian, and grinned. He had whiter teeth than anyone else in the entire world. Except for maybe Colin, who had his teeth bleached free of nicotine and coffee stains more often than he should have done.

Dom grinned back and held out a sweating beer bottle. "Shall we start the night a bit early?"

"It's always nice to have a half day," said Ian, and clinked his bottle against Dom's. "Cheers, mate."

"Ah, keep to yer own culture," said Dom. "You're not that good of an actor. _Mate_."

Ian took a sip of beer and stared out over the ocean. "It's so vast," he said. "Was this what it was like in New Zealand?"

"Nah. Spent most of my time inside." Dom squinted out. "Sun is starting to set."

"Yup." Ian nodded, still sipping beer. Dom took a swig of his own, wiped his wet palm on his shirt, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

"Smoke?"

"No. Thanks."

"Right, you don't. What if I told you these were... _special_ fags, yeah?" Dom waggled his eyebrows.

"Special?"

" _Special_." Dom pulled a cigarette out. "No filter."

"Ah, right. I know that kind of special. Well... sure."

Dom felt his toes tingle at Ian's slow grin. He sat down, patted the sand next to him, nested his beer in the sand, pulled out a lighter. "Come on, then."

*

"It's dark!" said Ian.

"You sound surprised." Dom passed him the joint, flopped back onto the sand, and folded one arm under his head. The sand was warmer than the air, just barely, and Dom imagined he could feel every grain of it pressing into his skin. "That's usually what happens when the sun goes down."

"How are we going to find our way back to the hotel?" asked Ian.

"It is we who have put our hands before our eyes and cry that it is dark.' And besides, the hotel is all lit up," said Dom, and giggled. He took back the joint from Ian, took another hit.

"What does that even _mean_?" asked Ian.

"I don't know." Dom paused for another hit. "A swami said it. Ask him."

"I'm sure there are plenty of swamis out here at the edge of nowhere." Ian took the joint back. "Give me that."

"I wish we had more beer," said Dom. He stared up at the moon. It looked different here, on the other side of the world. Different from New Zealand. Different from Manchester. Different from L.A., definitely. "I don't think this is the edge of nowhere, anyway."

"Where else could it be?" Ian laid down next to him, propped up on his side, on an arm.

"The beginning of somewhere." Dom sighed. He didn't look over at Ian, gleaming even in the darkness. "Darkness is the beginning, not the end. Or maybe both."

"Do you know what Nietzsche said about darkness? He said, 'In a real dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day.'"

"Nietzsche didn't say that." Dom paused for another hit.

"Yes he did." Ian's fingers brushed Dom's. He blew on the joint, and ash fell on Dom's shirt.

"He didn't," said Dom. "It was Fitzgerald."

"Well read, are we?"

"Better than you." Dom poked Ian's stomach, and Ian laughed, brushed the ash off Dom's shirt. His hand was large, his fingers as long as Dom's, almost. But in proportion to his body instead of freakish. And warm. Hot.

Ian didn't take his hand away. Dom looked from his fingers to his eyes, his impossibly bright white smile, and held his breath.

"Better than me," Ian agreed. "Nietzsche did say, The secret of reaping the greatest fruitfulness and the greatest enjoyment from life is to live dangerously.'"

Dom began to breathe again. Slowly. Ian's hand went up and down on his chest. "Did he? I'll have to take your word for it. That one's not so famous, is it?"

"I guess not." Ian leaned forward. His breath smelled of beer -- and Dom was rather surprised that he could smell anything over the burning herb. But he could. Because he could smell Ian's breath. And smell Ian's white teeth and blue blue blue eyes. "I hear you're a dangerous guy. Surfing. Sky diving."

Dom ignored every alarm going off in his head telling him this was a bad idea, didn't he learn anything from Elijah and Billy and Orlando and Viggo and -- he shook the thoughts away, smiled back at Ian. "Fighting orcs."

Ian laughed. "Right. Fighting orcs."

"I hear you're a zombie," said Dom, and leaned up until their mouths were touching.

  



End file.
